


You Were Never A Good Thing a.k.a. Throw Away Your Innocence. The World Is Waiting.

by apeirophobia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Kanima Jackson Whittemore, M/M, Mind Manipulation, sanity slippage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 15:57:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apeirophobia/pseuds/apeirophobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are three definitive elements of Matt's life. 1. He's obsessed with Allison Argent 2. He's consumed with a need for revenge and 3. He's in possession of a supernatural abomination. Matt Daehler's life is a Greek tragedy. It's a pity nobody's told him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oncoming Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the 'teenwolfkink' meme. 
> 
> Prompt: Jackson/Matt, referenced Allison/Jackson and Allison/Matt, warnings: stalking, non/dub-con
> 
> Remember Matt's suspicion that Jackson and Allison were sleeping together? Well, he can't have Allison, but he has as much access to Jackson as he wants after that point, and that's almost the same thing, right?

One of the things Matt likes about Jackson is that he’s pretty. And even the way he moves, on the lacrosse field, looks like he’s dancing, or swimming even (but Matt tries not to think about that). And he thinks, when Jackson’s on his hands and knees, retching whatever he had for lunch (Matt doesn’t know, because he didn’t tell Jackson what to eat) onto the pavement in some back-alley, naked as the day he was born, (Or, more like, naked as the day he was murdered, because Matt might be a cameraguy and not a genius or a werewolf, but he does know how to use Google, and suspicious car accidents aren’t that difficult to find in the Beacon Hills Daily Archive. They’re not nearly as common as say, suspicious animal attacks.) that if he had to be a master of a supernatural creature, that he really lucked out with that supernatural creature being Jackson freaking Whittemore. Who is blond and green-eyed and athletic, and pretty much perfect, at as far as the physical is concerned. (Matt suspects Whittemore doesn't exactly score a 10/10 on the emotional health scale, but Matt doesn't think he's the best person to judge this sort of thing.) And who’s currently vomiting and shivering because he just killed Lahey’s dad. Or Matt did. Whatever.

(It doesn’t really matter, no one liked the bastard anyway.)  
  
One of the things Matt doesn’t like about Jackson is that he gives the wrong answers. When he says things like “I’m supposed to meet Danny for study hall.” and “Bennett wasn’t home.” and “I can’t Wednesday night, my parents would notice.”

Really, this town is overflowing with sick irony as it is, he knows this, what with the school being full, ridiculously so, of video cameras, (fairly good ones, Matt might add, but standard over digital is really not his style) and yet Beacon Hill High is still a hotspot for blood and police tape and rumours, not to mention the fact that the Sheriff’s son of all people seems to be breaking laws like he’s got a penitentiary punch card he can’t wait to get filled up. But really, what kind of weapon of vengeance kills  _literally_  without a spoken order, but protests when its master’s plans intrude on “Family Dinner Night”. Jackson rolls his eyes when Matt calls it such. It’s an oddly unsettling site on someone who’s not entirely human.

(Though Matt tries not to let his unease show. Jackson is, afterall, his and it seems kinda pathetic to be afraid of one’s own monster. And Matt wouldn’t even say _afraid_ , per se, just wary, because besides a Junior, a teenager, and a camera guy, Matt could be described as Not An Idiot.)

“Self-preservation, Mathew.” Jackson says, a bit long-suffering, and only a tad condescending, and he sounds like someone else, like someone much older, “Means not baiting the enemy. Don’t over-stretch your hand simply because you’re in the thrall of power.”

He leans against the red-brick building, looking much more like a fifteen-year-old boy, and it sends chills down Matt’s spine, because _he_ was just talking about knocking off some Hill High School alums and suddenly it seems like Jackson’s playing a much bigger game than he is. Sometimes when Matt mindlessly wonders over the events of the past several months, all the missing persons and "accidents" and inconsistencies, he starts to think maybe something is going down that he hasn’t even quite scratched the surface of. Possibly something is going on that he himself is a pawn in.

(And then he shakes himself back to the present, with the list of vendettas that is steadily getting shorter, and the lizard monster/slave that he kinda has to keep an eye on, and the dark-haired girl who seems to have commandeered his fantasies ever since he first photographed her at her aunt’s funeral.)

Beacan Hills has that small-town-serial-killer feel to it, a tension in the air that Matt does his best to ignore. But when he sleeps, Matt's unconscious mind circles the truth, and his thoughts drift in the shape of shadows. In the shadows something _waits_. Waits to conquer, to consume, to _destroy_. In the back of his mind, Matt knows its coming. For Matt and for Matt's monster. In his waking hours Matt tries not to think about it too much. He’s not sure he even cares.


	2. Under Your Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the teenwolfkink meme originally, re-edited and then posted here. Hope you enjoy! :D

The first time Matt saw Allison it was like a stripped wire hitting copper, like something went _live_ inside him. It wasn’t just Jackson and the opportunity for revenge that woke him up, that sparked something that was always there but had just been lying dormant for seven years (and eight months, but who’s counting?). He thinks, when he’s feeling introspective, that what happened at Lahey’s when he was nine put him off the whole sex business. Err, no, that’s not quite right. It would be more accurate to say, that what happened at Lahey’s put him off the whole _romance_ business. Equality. Consent. Rose petals and kisses. Because when you’re a child and you’re dying, you are not really at your most rational. And something about connecting drowning with teenagers making out gave the whole thing a bad connotation. After the 'incident' Matt loathed physical and emotional attraction, "crushes" as other kids called them, in a manner that went far beyond "ew, cooties". He hated water, he hated the Lahey's, and he hated the idea that he could be so enraptured with another person that he would not notice a little kid drowning.

 

But now, now _Allison_. And that’s really all there is to it. Matt wants Allison to want him. In his most wistful fantasies, imagines that she understands him. Thinks that maybe, if he imagines it strong enough, and takes enough pictures, that maybe it’ll become a reality, just like the abomination at his command and the bodies in the morgue. Because it’s just too perfect to not be meant to be. In his head, they’re a little flawless trio: himself, Jackson, and Allison. He has the knowledge, and the control. Jackson has the power, and the beauty. And Allison, Allison has heart, and beauty, but underneath a few superficial layers of quiet good-girl, Matt suspects there lies a need for vengeance just as bloodthirsty as Matt’s own, and it makes him want her even more. Matt thinks, they’re all connected: the Kanima and Matt and Jackson and Allison and when Allison smiles at Jackson during AP English, Matt feels it with the same intensity that Jackson feels Matt’s fear of water. He almost feels like she’s a part of him too. (And if he takes it out on Jackson, who’s any the wiser?)

  
Jackson twists under him, rounding his shoulders against the 800 thread count sheets and trying to pull his legs up, trying to push Matt back, and Matt thinks that it has more appeal this way. If Jackson was this pliant submissive _thing_ beneath him it wouldn’t nearly be this much fun. The way he still turns his head in clear distress. The way he forgets where he is sometimes, with this glazed over look in his eyes that he tries to hides behind. But then when Matt is nearing his climax he’ll chant “Jackson, Jackson, Jackson” like some perverse benediction, and it brings him back, brings the boy who sat next to Matt in homeroom on the first day of the semester back to the here and now. Jackson gasps like he’s drowning, and his whole body clenches tight, making Matt gasp too, but it’s all pleasure. Jackson squirms and tries to pull back, he’s more himself in these moments then hardly ever. A hand pushes against Matt’s chest, like an appeal to the beating organ underneath, and Matt laughs breathlessly and thinks, _if you only knew_ , for a second before he feels the claws. Jackson’s claws, that he has out and that are pricking the skin across Matt’s left pectoral. With a particularly vicious thrust Matt catches Jackson off-guard. The younger boy bucks up underneath him, an instinctive reaction, and Matt uses the momentum to grab Jackson’s wrist tightly and yank it back the wrong way. He presses his face to the hollow of Jackson’s neck, Matt’s lips tasting the rapid pulse as the sound of his weapon’s carpal bones cracking echo in his ears. Matt cums and Jackson screams.

 

Matt rolls back and stares at the ceiling, Jackson’s ceiling, and ponders whether his life is soon to be over due to the strange rash covering the right side of his torso. He wonders on a scale of "Scott Mcall pre-supernatural steroids" to "Greenberg", how screwed he is. He’s over his head, that much he knows for sure. It’s like one of those movies where the loser outcast starts hanging with the popular kids only to discover they’re all a mess of insecurities and imperfections and eating disorders and fucked up homes. Except he’s not the loser outcast, he’s the _human_ , and suddenly he’s in this world of (Yeah, sure, popular kids, but not only just) supernatural _creatures_ and this group of Lacrosse players and Honor Roll students and best friends and cutest couples gave way to shit that Matt wouldn’t of even have dreamt of existing six months ago.

 

Matt’s small mercy is he is his own master. Matt’s life might suck, but at least Jackson’s suck more. Matt knows who he is. He knows his parents names and the names of those who have wronged him. Trauma might be the struck match in a dark room, but necessary information is the oiling pooling on the floor. Matt is armed, Jackson is helpless. Beside him Jackson lets out shuddery breaths into his pillow. His abused arm is curled up protectively against his chest and he's shaking quite badly. His eyes are closed and he looks so so young. Matt supposes he should feel bad, he was once normal enough to remember what having a conscience is supposed to taste like. But this tastes so much better. He watches, idly interested, as scales appear and disappear on Jackson’s skin. They form and quiver and shiver away, like words formed in sand only to be smoothed out again by the wind. 

 

Jackson is broken, Matt knows that. He knows that nobody who has all the pieces in their right places would turn into a giant lizard that kills on command. But Jackson is so broken that it starts a small worry in the back of Matt’s mind. Not for Jackson, exactly, but for Matt by proxy. The bond is growing stronger every day, and Matt suddenly finds people on his radar that he never gave a second thought to before. People like Stiles and Danny and Lydia. Matt will be walking down the north hall, just going to Chemistry, and he’ll see that Martin girl at her locker and think _what beautiful red hair_ , and then catch himself, and think, _where did the hell did that come from?_

And it doesn't make any sense to be noticing _Lydia_  because Allison is tall and thin and brunette and has probably has ruined all other girls for him now. But then he spots Jackson leaning against the opposite wall and understands. The bleed-through is starting to go both ways. Matt doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do about that. On the one hand, Matt is smart enough to know how helpful it could be to know one’s weapon so intimately. But on the other hand, it’s super annoying. He doesn’t want to crave Jackson’s favorite food or find himself straightening his room to the standards of a desperate perfectionist or to get a sad guilty ache every now and then when he catches sight or sound of Lydia Martin. He can block it out, for the most part, it only becomes a problem when he lets his guard down. Right now, it’s quiet in Jackson’s room, quiet in the whole house actually, and it’s dusk outside. Better yet, it’s quiet in Jackson’s head; there’s only a faint distressed hum in the corner of Matt’s mind that he’s designated for “weird kanima-bond feelings”. He knows that if he doesn’t get dressed and on his way soon he risks falling asleep here. Jackson's luxury mattress (specially engineered for “star athletes” and filled with chinchillas or clouds or something) is going to be the death of him if the weird green scaly rash doesn’t do him in first. But, between the retribution and the sex, Matt seems to be developing a sated sense of apathy. So he closes his eyes instead, and lets himself drift off.


End file.
